


Origins of the Masters

by PearlyWrites



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Conflict, Currently no plans to make a Lloyd chapter but that might change if people want it, Gen, Headcanon, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Short Stories, brace for feels, let me know if i should tag anything else, lots of canon character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 02:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlyWrites/pseuds/PearlyWrites
Summary: A series of short stories relating how I feel the previous elemental masters passed their powers on to their successors, since the show only implies some things and never elaborates on others. Will follow the four main elements (with fire and water in the same chapter of course).





	Origins of the Masters

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are technically out of order in my personal notes but I got some finished before others so I'm going to post them as such lol

It was pouring rain, long and hard, in the dark, dark night. He was just walking briskly at first, hoping the movement would calm the wailing infant in his arms but the frustration and anger and distress sped up his steps until he was running, running away in the storm. Where he was running to, or from, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

The baby’s cries were just getting louder and louder in his ears, louder than the rain and the thunder and his own pounding footsteps and he was so sick of it, _ he just wanted it to stop- _

And then he was at a dead end, a junkyard far away from town, the neon lights on the sign flickering like his own sporadic heartbeat. He gulped in deep, greedy breaths in hopes of calming his fried nerves but to no avail, of course. He had to stop running, because if he ran any further, he likely wouldn’t be able to make it back to his mansion. He wouldn’t be able to find himself again.

Though to be honest, he had lost himself the day she died…

The poor baby was probably completely soaked through at this point, wet and cold and uncomfortable and confused and lost, just like his father. Looking down at his son’s face, the man just wanted to sob. What was he supposed to do? He had been opposed to the idea of a baby when she first suggested it but seeing the joy on her face when she talked about it… He always had a hard time telling her ‘no’.

If he had known the birth of his son would mean the death of the love of his life, he would never have agreed to it.

Yet here they were.

_ What am I going to do? _ he cried out to the void, clutching the baby helplessly.

Lightning struck, close and brilliant and terrible, and he flinched, flattening himself against the wall as much as he could. He didn’t hear the thunder, likely because the sound had overwhelmed his senses, but his ears were ringing and he couldn’t hear himself breathing anymore, despite hyperventilating. After a few seconds, he realized the light had faded but not gone away. He peeled his eyelids open and thought maybe something was on fire in front of him. But no, it was a figure illuminated by brilliant, constant lightning. It was…

It was  _ her _ .

There she stood, in all her beauty and glory, exactly as he remembered her from before the birth. She wore that strange tunic he associated with her past, the outfit she called her ‘elemental uniform’. He never understood it, no matter how many times she tried to elaborate. Her gorgeous, perfectly curled hair practically floated in the howling wind and literally danced with electricity, sparks bouncing off her entire body. Like she was made of the very element she claimed to be so intimately connected to.

She was gazing at him sadly. It wasn’t a grieving type of sadness, though - it was… disappointment. It made his throat close up and his heart drop through his stomach.  _ He had failed, she’d given him a task and he’d failed- _

Another moment of ringing silence hung between them before she stepped forward and took the child - now quiet, though that may have been his temporary deafness - out of his trembling hands. Her hands, smooth and soft like he remembered, gave off a searing warmth through the freezing rain that made him flinch again. He wasn’t burned but some primal part of his brain was convinced he would have been, had her touch lingered.

She cradled the infant close to her, gaze tender but full of infinite sorrow, as she rocked her son back and forth gently. The baby seemed unaffected by his mother’s unearthly state, pudgy hands grasping eagerly for her dancing, slender fingers. He almost missed the motion, but she pressed something into the baby’s hands - an achingly familiar bronze key, the one he had given her for his estate when they had married.

With one more piercingly sad look at the pathetic, soaked man before her, she turned and walked, each step achingly graceful, to the front door of the little mobile home that sat within the junkyard’s walls. This woman, every aspect oozing grace and power, was leaving the man she loved for good and relieving him of the responsibility he proved he couldn’t handle.

Still without speaking a word, she set the baby down on the porch. He could barely see her, through the relentless sheets of rain, stroke their son’s cheek tenderly and stand back up, knocking twice on the worn metal door. Casting one last, heavy glance over her shoulder at him, clinging to the brick wall, lightning struck her position once more, taking her with it and leaving only darkness.

Sound came back slowly, the infant’s cries coming only after his pounding heart and gasping breath. The door to the little mobile opened, artificial yellow light pouring out over the soaked yard and illuminating his poor little boy. A figure, silhouetted by the light from inside, glanced around and immediately noticed the wailing child. They quickly bent down and scooped him up, looking around even as they clutched him tight.

The baby’s clothes were sopping wet, he knew that well, yet still the stranger held the baby close, calling out for whoever had left him. His voice was gone, for he knew what his late wife had done: passed the responsibility of raising someone so important to someone who could handle it. He didn’t know these people, whoever they were, but his wife had always been a better judge of character than himself.

Not giving the junkyard owners the luxury of knowing he was there, he turned in place and ran back into the night.


End file.
